In the Beginning…
I’m starting a new blog here at JVH reflections. I have no special agenda, and hope to bring some fun and excitement to all our lives. If you disagree, let me know, if you agree, let me know.
JVH
Paul Manning always wanted to be a cop. During the Korean War he was an MP. When he returned to Los Angeles he joined the LAPD. That’s when it began to spiral in. He and hispartner came upon a woman being raped. Paul tolerated a lot, but not violence aga inst women. Before his partner could stop him, he beat the perp within an inch of his life.
Unfortunately the rapist was the son of a LA city councilman and politics being what they are, Paul was fired. He went to work for the Bel Air Patrol, a private police force protecting the rich and famous. The experience gave him what he needed to become a private investigator.
He opened his office in Hollywood.
One of his first cases began with an early morning phone call from the night manager of an underground garage just up the street at Hollywood and Vine.
A ringing in the distance stirred me from a deep sleep. It took a moment before I could
determine whether it was the phone or the door. It was the phone. It was still ringing after I checked the time, 7AM, and I padded to the kitchen to silence it.
“Manning,” I muttered. I don’t do very well before my second cup of coffee.
“Paul Manning, the detective?” replied a silky soft voice. I was just too nice a voice for 7 AM. But then, who am I to artuce with a voice like that, at any time?
“Yeah,” I answered. It wasn’t difficult affecting my surly “who the hell are you “ attitude after the amount of alcohol I had consumed the night before.
“This is Betty Beeson. I work for AB Parking in Hollywood. I’m in a lot of trouble and need your help.” Her voice began to quaver, and I knew at any moment she would start to sob. I can’t stand a dame that cries, particularly one I haven’t met. I decided to be a bit nicer. That usually isn’t difficult with me with beautiful women, but who knew.?
It spilled out of her like champagne from a tipped crystal flute. “I’m the night manager at our garage on Hollywood and Vine. My shift ends at eight. I counted the money and it was short. I didn’t steal it, Mr. Manning, really I didn’t. But when my boss finds out, he’ll fire me. I need this job. I called my friend Shirley and she said to call you….
…It was 9:20 so I walked the two blocks from my office to the Argyle. The day was hot and the brim of my hat was getting damp. The parking entrance was on Vine. I walked down the ramp and asked the kid in the booth to point out the parking office. The garage was cool and it felt good to take off the hat. As I neared the office, I heard a scream…
Read three ‘Death by Parking’ stories, The Laundry, The Phantom, and The Rendezvous in Book One. Book 2, The Lieutenant will be available soon.
Death by Parking
Paul Manning always wanted to be a cop. During the Korean War he was an MP. When he returned to Los Angeles he joined the LAPD. That’s when it began to spiral in. He and hispartner came upon a woman being raped. Paul tolerated a lot, but not violence aga inst women. Before his partner could stop him, he beat the perp within an inch of his life.
Unfortunately the rapist was the son of a LA city councilman and politics being what they are, Paul was fired. He went to work for the Bel Air Patrol, a private police force protecting the rich and famous. The experience gave him what he needed to become a private investigator.
He opened his office in Hollywood.
One of his first cases began with an early morning phone call from the night manager of an underground garage just up the street at Hollywood and Vine.
A ringing in the distance stirred me from a deep sleep. It took a moment before I could
determine whether it was the phone or the door. It was the phone. It was still ringing after I checked the time, 7AM, and I padded to the kitchen to silence it.
“Manning,” I muttered. I don’t do very well before my second cup of coffee.
“Paul Manning, the detective?” replied a silky soft voice. I was just too nice a voice for 7 AM. But then, who am I to artuce with a voice like that, at any time?
“Yeah,” I answered. It wasn’t difficult affecting my surly “who the hell are you “ attitude after the amount of alcohol I had consumed the night before.
“This is Betty Beeson. I work for AB Parking in Hollywood. I’m in a lot of trouble and need your help.” Her voice began to quaver, and I knew at any moment she would start to sob. I can’t stand a dame that cries, particularly one I haven’t met. I decided to be a bit nicer. That usually isn’t difficult with me with beautiful women, but who knew.?
It spilled out of her like champagne from a tipped crystal flute. “I’m the night manager at our garage on Hollywood and Vine. My shift ends at eight. I counted the money and it was short. I didn’t steal it, Mr. Manning, really I didn’t. But when my boss finds out, he’ll fire me. I need this job. I called my friend Shirley and she said to call you….
…It was 9:20 so I walked the two blocks from my office to the Argyle. The day was hot and the brim of my hat was getting damp. The parking entrance was on Vine. I walked down the ramp and asked the kid in the booth to point out the parking office. The garage was cool and it felt good to take off the hat. As I neared the office, I heard a scream…
Read three ‘Death by Parking’ stories, The Laundry, The Phantom, and The Rendezvous in Book One. Book 2, The Lieutenant will be available soon.